Chapter 426

“This is the prelude to war. It has been confirmed that an envoy was sent from Burgos to Clifford. I, along with my subordinates who were present at the palace at the time, can verify this—there’s no room for falsehood here. But there is one question: is it true that the envoy’s death was intended as a signal to Burgos?”

“Clifford’s side claims that no one died, yet you ask the question as if the envoy is definitely dead.”

“It is Burgos that insists the envoy died, and it is precisely because of that stance that war broke out. My question is framed accordingly. The deaths of the envoys during that process are not the fault of Bariel or Clifford.”

“You twist words to suit your own narrative. Such behavior is unbecoming of someone who claims to live honorably within history.”

“What is history, then? It is the interpretation of recorded events by future generations. Bariel seeks to document everything based on the justification for war, while you sit here burdened by the responsibility for starting it. All of this, you could say, is history.”

Ian flipped through the documents and glanced at the scribe. The woman’s pen was moving rapidly, trying to keep up with the heated exchange.

“I’ll ask again. Did you attempt to send a signal to Burgos through the envoy’s death?”

“…”

Damon’s lips pressed tightly together, as if his tongue had been cut out, and he looked up only at Ian.

Ian snapped the folder shut loudly and gestured toward Akorella. She wasted no time, rushing forward to grab Damon’s chin roughly.

“How dare you!”

Damon tried to push her away with his bound hands, but she caught his wrist effortlessly. Her eyes flashed with a wild gleam, and she smiled—charmingly, yet terrifyingly so. The mages nearby averted their gazes, unable to bear the sight.

“Hmm. No disrespect intended. Now, drink up. Yes, drink.”

“How dare you—”

“Or would you prefer to sob and sniffle like a child, Your Majesty Damon? Or shove your face into the bowl like a dog?”

Damon faltered at her blunt words, and Akorella seized the moment to pour the potion down his throat. It was like forcing medicine on a stubborn child.

She clamped his mouth shut to stop him from spitting it out, and the bitter liquid slid down his throat.

“I ask again. If we start like this, you might as well skip dinner—you’re just filling your stomach with water. Did you try to send a signal through the envoy’s death?”

“Gah! Y-yes.”

“Hmm.”

Damon coughed up blood as he finally confessed the truth. Ian frowned at the sudden gush of blood, glancing at Akorella. Wasn’t this the potion that had caused controversy early on due to its side effects?

“It’s mixed about half and half. It’s faster to make this way. Aside from coughing up blood, there are no other issues. You know that, right? And what’s wrong with a little water retention? It balances things out when you cough up blood. Now, next question?”

Akorella shook the bottle of potion, urging Ian to continue, while the scribe scratched her temple with her pen in agreement. What harm is there if a defeated king coughs up some blood?

Ian handed Damon a handkerchief and flipped to the next document.

“Next…”

As Ian’s questions continued, Damon’s shirt grew visibly soaked. His stubbornness was remarkable—he never once gave a cooperative answer.

Ian frowned, watching Damon stagger unsteadily. The metallic scent of blood was overwhelming. Damon said nothing, eyes fixed downward, spitting out blood mixed with saliva. What storm of thoughts raged inside his mind?

“Are you feeling very weak?”

“…”

“Akorella, from now on, give him the potion with fewer side effects. We have a long way to go, and the king is already exhausted.”

“Shall I bring him something to eat?”

“How dare you…”

“How dare I?”

“Get…”

“Get lost?”

Damon closed his eyes, overwhelmed by anger and fatigue, and collapsed onto the table, gasping for breath. His body was stained with blood from coughing, but he seemed too drained to care.

Ian smoothed the edge of the paper and continued slowly. Now was the real beginning—the presence that would be crucial to him and to Bariel.

“Next, questions about the Rutherford Guild. According to information from Bariel, it seems you have been trading with them for quite some time, even before this incident. Is it true that the Rutherford Guild assisted Burgos in securing and distributing Idgal?”

Damon said nothing, lowering his gaze.

The mages whispered among themselves, puzzled why he hesitated when the potion would soon force the truth out. But Ian already knew the reason.

Damon was someone chasing a third life. That meant he had already lived twice before, and his greatest secret was tied to Rutherford. Naturally, his lips would not part easily.

“Damon.”

Ian called quietly. He could almost guess the turmoil inside Damon’s mind. Perhaps he was wondering if dying here after refusing to answer in the palace would grant Ian a new chance.

Ian tapped the desk softly and whispered,

“I don’t care if you start a new life. You will die here, but I will live on—and I will be there in your third life, won’t I?”

Whether as Ian the bastard or Ian the emperor.

Damon’s brow twitched slightly.

“The me in that place will create this moment again, regardless of whether you have lived three or four times. But remember this: it may be a new beginning for you, but for everyone here, it is not. The people of Burgos exist, and they all wish for your death. You will pay the price.”

Ian wasn’t about to let him die easily, but he warned against irresponsibly escaping through death.

Even if Damon moved on to a new world, this one would continue.

As someone who had sat on the throne, Damon should remember this clearly and not abandon his people. This was not a threat from an enemy minister, but advice from someone who had been part of the royal household.

“Why? Does it look bad? Some struggle in ministerial posts despite royal blood, while others seem ready to give up everything as king.”

The scribe’s pen paused briefly. She adjusted her glasses and glanced around, as if confirming she had heard correctly.

The mages frowned in confusion, not understanding what Damon meant.

“Nonsense.”

“No, not at all. Isn’t it true, Lord Ian? Everyone envies you, but you are also one of the most pitiable. Your goal lies far above, but you cannot reach it.”

“Shall we pause the interrogation for a moment, Lord Ian?”

“If we pause, that too will be recorded.”

“Scribe, show some flexibility, will you?”

“What are you saying? I’m not with the Magic Department—I’m with the royal household.”

The scribe snapped back, clearly annoyed. Akorella was left speechless, mouth opening and closing. Unlike the unsettled others, Ian remained calm and pressed on.

“So, your answer? Do you admit to some kind of deal between Rutherford and Burgos?”

“If you admit you are of royal blood.”

“W-what nonsense! Captain Akorella! Are there more side effects from the potion? What is he babbling about?”

“No, the only side effect is coughing up blood!”

“Everyone, quiet.”

Ian tried to calm the situation, but Damon’s resolve was unshaken. He snatched the potion from Akorella’s hand and gulped it down.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he repeated his conversation with Ian like a puppet speaking only the truth.

“Lord Ian, you gave me a secret, and I gave you one. You are definitely of royal blood. I engraved that firmly in my memory that day.”

He spoke without hesitation—that was the truth.

Akorella gasped involuntarily, covering her mouth, and the mages fell into stunned silence. Only the scribe’s pen kept moving relentlessly.

“Facts are not always the truth.”

Ian smiled faintly and looked at Damon. What Damon said might be factually true, but whether it was the truth was another matter.

How could Ian prove his royal blood? Only by the testimony of Damon, a prisoner of the enemy?

“Your effort is admirable, but the potion shouldn’t be used for such purposes. I asked about Rutherford. Using it for other things is a waste of public funds. It’s not the kind of thing a king who pays no taxes should do.”

“Rutherford, yes. I have met with them and exchanged favors, big and small. The Idgal pendant you handled on the battlefield—you know about it, right?”

Damon deliberately looked toward the mages pacing outside the door.

“Everyone who was there saw what happened to Ian when he touched the Idgal pendant. According to Rutherford, it reacts when it meets its true owner. Ian, are you the owner of Idgal?”

Akorella instinctively turned away. She and Hale were the only ones who knew that secret.

When Ian was very young—so young that he has no memory of it himself—he unwittingly became involved in the creation of Idgal. Didn’t he confess everything to me at Clifford Palace when they asked him to take on the role of the next Minister?

Yet, I never expected those words to come out again, this time from King Damon’s own mouth.

The wizards, who had been silent until then, couldn’t hold back any longer and started muttering among themselves. The secretary signaled to his colleagues to record every word spoken.

Tap tap tap!

“Are you out of your mind? Really? We are wizards, Your Majesty! How could we—or Ian—possibly be the masters of Idgal?”

“Captain Akorella! It’s a side effect! It has to be a side effect! You need to accept that!”

“Damn it, it’s not a side effect! Everyone, just be quiet!”

“What business does the Minister of Magic have with something like Idgal? It’s about restraining wizards, restraining ourselves. And above all, Ian wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Exactly. King Damon, you must retract that statement! Or else—!”

Though the retraction would also be recorded by the secretary, it was better than letting it slide.

The Ministry of Magic was only just beginning to regain stability within the palace. With the Empire’s Defense Department now under Jin’s control, a new light was dawning on the Ministry. How could anyone douse that flame so coldly?

The secretary and his team worked swiftly, ears pricked to catch even the slightest slip of the tongue amid the noisy commotion.

Scratch scratch!

“Bring me a new pen!”

“Here you go.”

“You all should keep your composure. Just a small reminder: everything said here is being recorded.”

Akorella bit her lip nervously and whispered to Ian.

“W-what should we do? Should we just say it’s a side effect of the potion?”

“That’ll do. Otherwise, everything we’ve done so far will have been for nothing. And Akorella, I don’t think you’re quite ready to admit it.”

“Huh? Well, of course, my perfect creation can’t have any flaws, but… sometimes you have to adapt to the situation. Especially now…”

Damon tossed the handkerchief Ian had given him back across the table.

“Ian, this time you drink the potion yourself and prove your innocence. Show us all that there’s truly no connection between you and Idgal.”

Ian looked down at the damp handkerchief and smiled faintly.

“And why should I do that?”

“If you refuse, I’ll report directly to His Majesty. Right here, in front of all the officials watching, or on the execution platform where all the empire’s citizens can see.”

Damon nodded toward the vial of the potion. Ian hesitated for a moment, weighing his options.

But before he could decide, Akorella didn’t hesitate. She swept all the vials of the potion off the desk and onto the floor.

Clatter! Crash!

Glass shattered and liquid spilled everywhere. Akorella pressed her throbbing temple and shot Ian a look.

“…Damn it, I knocked them all over. I’ll have to make new ones. Ian, why don’t you take a break for a bit?”